


Call of the Night

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Breeding Kink, Bulge Kink, F/M, Knotting, Rough Sex, Super possessive Muriel, Werewolf Muriel, come bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: You go to Muriel’s house during his rut, and things proceed as you would expect: you getting absolutely rawed and fucked by a restless and possessive werewolf who just wants to taste and claim and devour his mate.





	Call of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for...a LOT of anon requests on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights).

Muriel was always moody during his rut, a turn for the worst from his usual gentle and slightly withdrawn demeanour. 

You had only known him long enough to have seen him go through it one other time, right after you had started seeing each other, and you hadn’t known him well enough to try and stick around—and just in case you had been thinking about it, he had hidden himself away in the woods, a dark cave he told you about days after when he had settled and returned to almost normal. 

You had gone to see it a few days later, in the early hours of the morning when he was busy working. It had been lightless, lifeless, wet, with a small corner for him to curl up in. Nothing to destroy. Nothing to comfort him. 

In his own words: the furthest he could be from civilisation. From _you_.

This time, you had convinced him not to go to the cave. Not to hide himself in the woods. That he, despite the nature he was still working to come to terms with every single day, did not deserve to be punished for what came along with it.

You watch him through the window of his home, a single candle flickering in the far corner, almost burned down to a stub. Inanna is nowhere in sight, safe and curled up by the fireplace, exactly where you had left her with Asra in the shop.

Muriel is pacing, growling, scratching at the skin on his arms like it’s a nervous tick, or as though he is trying to scratch out some part of him he can’t quite get to, a curse coursing through his veins that is unsettling and wicked. The shadows on his body seem to be darker than those around the room, swirling around his limbs and head, concentrated most around his torso, ebbing a little darker with each growl he lets roll from its depths.

You know he has seen you. Heard you. _Scented_ you. He might have been struggling before your arrival—restless, shifting his form to try and relieve some of his irritation—but this show is all for you, _because_ of you. 

His pacing, his growling, his scratching, all because he is fighting not to come out to you, to push your face down into the dirt ground and fuck you from behind without mercy or reprieve, to breed you like every instinct running rampant in his mind is screaming at him to do. 

And you know that if he always ignores those instincts, if he pushes this side of himself down, that it will eat away at him, gnaw at his insides like a vicious disease until there is nothing left, only what he believes himself to be—terrifying, dangerous, unworthy. A monster.

So you make the choice for him. Inhaling, swallowing, you step away from the window—watch the corner of your eye as he freezes mid-step, feel the tightness in your chest as he disappears from view—and to the door. Your palm rests flat against it, right alongside your forehead, and you exhale before stepping through.

—and before you have even stepped completely out of the crisp night air, he has you by the wrist and thrown up against the wall, your cheek pressed into the wooden slats as he pushes his weight into you.

A snarl rolls through his entire body, starting deep in his chest and reverberating with every shallow breath he takes. He kicks your feet apart and presses a thigh in between them, the hard muscles rolling and twitching beneath you, and in turn you roll and press down onto them with a whimper as he nuzzles into your neck, as he nips and licks and bites his way across your shoulders and then begins down your back.

You place your hands flat against the wall, push your hips back as he drops to his knees, wasting no time in ripping through every layer of clothing you have there, leaving the shreds and scraps of fabric hanging as he licks a single clean line with the flat of his tongue, right from your clit to your asshole.

He whines at the taste, and you shiver and catch your tongue between your teeth, already tasting the promise of blood as you roll down onto him. He wastes no time, absolutely careless and callous and carnal as he devours you with his lips and tongue, so much longer than it normally is. 

The room is filled with the feral noise of him lapping at and devouring your sopping cunt, of your whimpers matched by each of his own as his tongue fucks you and his teeth scrape against you and his lips suckle your clit. 

And then your knees buckle, and he slams you against the wall by your waist, his movements never ceasing as he holds you there with his raw, inhumane strength while he eats you out like a dying man.

It is there that you scream, and you crash, and you shake and sob into the wall, clawing at it to try and get purchase to both pull yourself away from the heady sensations and push yourself further down onto his mouth, his lips, his sharp little canines.

And he is already up and pushing his cock—normally almost too much, now impossibly wide and throbbing and dripping with his pre-come—into you before the last waves of your orgasm have even thought about clearing.

And he’s fucking you like he hates you, like he is desperate to consume every inch of you, stretching and abusing and pounding into you while he growls and shivers and keens, a single-word mantra spilling from somewhere deep in his chest on repeat.

“_Mine mine mine mine mine mine_—”

You nod, you sob, you take everything he is giving you. You try to tuck your arms in between your chest and the wall, try to become smaller and let him overshadow you because it’s what he wants, what he needs, what he _craves_. He wants to consume you, devour you whole.

But he catches your movement and snatches your wrists, slamming them into the wall, jarring your bones, whining as he nuzzles into you. All of his movements suddenly become so much more frantic, as though the idea of you pulling away from him is terrifying, or has caused whatever part of him is still human, that still realises who you are other than a scent and a set of holes and _his_, to panic and latch on even tighter.

As he fucks you, as he thrusts into you with fast and long strokes that drag against your walls and cause the head of him to bump uncomfortably close to your cervix, you feel his knot growing at the base of his cock, pushing at you, waiting to stretch and fill you and hold you to him for hours to come.

You wriggle your hips toward it, and your knees give a little more. The action seems to quiet his rolling snarls for just a moment, though his brutal pace shows no signs of doing the same, and when he speaks, his voice is an echoing growl that seems to wrap itself like silken shadows around your body, your soul, your mind.

“Are you ready to take my knot?” He asks. His sharp little teeth drag along your bare shoulder, and you shiver in anticipation. “Are you ready to be mine? To be so full of my seed that your stomach swells?”

You sob at his words, nod, _keen_ as he releases your wrists and slams his hands into the wall, his entire body shivering behind you as debris and dust floats down around you.

And then he is picking you up, turning you, putting you on your hands and knees with a care that belies the almost violent movements of his hips and teeth just moments before. You swallow and whimper eagerly at the new position. He has not moved from inside of you, but he hasn’t pushed his knot in, and so you are stuck—all shaking limbs and quivering thighs—at the edge of something you know will be both so glorious and so terrifying.

When you push back toward it, you hear him chuckle, and it’s that same dark, rolling voice that seems to scrape against your mind like black talons. He pushes at your head, his elongated nails pressing into your temples as he forces your chest to the ground so that your hips are tilted up to him, presenting you to him.

And then he begins thrusting once more, that same brutal pace that hits every part of your aching cunt. You whimper and plead beneath him, fists bunching and grabbing at thin air as they attempt to find purchase to hold you steady against his movements.

“_Please_!” You gasp, a whine that’s almost startlingly close to his own. “Please, give me your knot, please _please please_—”

He growls, _howls_, before dropping forward with his hands either side of you and thrusting himself all the way into you, yielding to your pleas. You yelp as his knot swells you, stretches you almost painfully, making you feel so full, so wonderful, so _needed_.

“Yes, _yes_—”

“Shut up.” He snarls, his teeth catching on the skin of your neck. He begins thrusting once more, a barely-detectable whine intermingled with his rolling growls as he fucks you into submission. “Shut up. _Shut up. Mine. Mine. Mate. **Mine**_.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m yours, your mate—”

“_Mate. Mine_. I’m going to fill you, breed you, make sure everyone knows you’re mine—”

And then with a sharp, crying howl that pierces through the still night around you, he spills inside of you, his white-hot seed coating your insides, making you swell and groan and shiver from the sheer force and amount of it.

And he is thrusting still, hovering on all fours above you while his claws leave deep gouges in the floorboards, tearing the rug to shreds mere inches from your face as he claims you.

“Oh _gods_—”

You groan, your entire body shuddering as you milk his cock, as your muscles squeeze to keep it and all of his seed inside of you, as though the idea of losing even a drop of it was abhorrent.

He lets out a final, quiet whine, and then his thrusts slow to a stop. He nuzzles into the back of your head, shadows seeming to swirl around the two of you, keeping you cloaked from the world, as he murmurs the same word to you, over and over and over and over.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

You nod, barely managing to whisper back to him, “Yours. I’m yours.”

And he sounds so delighted at your admission, a content little murmur as he curls around you and tucks you into his chest so that he can lay you both on your side. Your cunt is still locked onto him, his knot still swollen inside of you; you won’t be apart for hours now that it is, he will keep you tucked into him and locked to him until the swelling has gone, and then still.

You turn your face into the floor, shaking your head in a silent plea as he reaches down with his hand and pats your stomach—rounder, fuller than before—the feel of it causing his cock to twitch and shudder inside of you.

“I’m so full…” You whisper. “I can f-feel it…there’s so much…”

“So beautiful,” he murmurs into your neck. His canines, now only a little sharper than normal, brush against your pulse, but his voice has lost only some of its rolling echo. “So full. _Mine_. Always mine.”

You nod. “Always yours.”

He growls, and his body seems to lock tighter around you. He is satiated for now, with you there locked onto him, the anxiety and the restlessness and the need to dominate fucked out of him while he rests his head on yours.

But you know that the moment his cock settles, the moment he is able to pull out of you and fuck you again, he will not be gentle, and he will not hold back, and you will not be free until his rut passes.


End file.
